


In the Dust

by PrzemyslawPosting (Windsor)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Rating May Change, Very AU, also this is a getting better fic, and i will make them into something great, and it will be very depression inspired, anyways i have no idea what im writing about yet, desert fic, either way they will be something, even tho i hate psych lmaO, i have a lot of vague ideas, im basically doing this cause i really wanted this fic to exist and it DOESNT, im trying to do a psychological thingie, it will be very gay, or trash, other than:, which is RUDE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 09:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windsor/pseuds/PrzemyslawPosting
Summary: Keith has been kicked out of the Garrison, but what if there was no cover up? What if Shiro isn't coming back?A small look into the life of one young adult isolated in a desert detailing the effects of loss and exile.





	In the Dust

**Author's Note:**

> dude im writing this for nanowrimo and im #dying b/c i have not written *anything* in years, and to prove my point look at the fact that i havent even posted anything else on archive lmao.
> 
> im sorry this starts out so gotdamn slow, this is kinda an experimental work for me and idk if it is going to work yet. i also don't know what the main pairing is yet, i'm kinda leaning towards keith and hunk or keith and lance or maybe even keith and hunk AND lance if i get really feisty

The sunlight streamed in through the half closed blinds and onto Keith's face, falling on his eyelids and cheeks and slowly but surely waking him from the light sleep he was in. Keith groaned, closing his eyes tightly as if that would help shut out the light of the desert sun. It didn't.  

He reluctantly moved his arm over his eyes to block out the sun. All it did was drag him further from the hands of sleep. He rolled over.

The feeling of falling made him alert instantly. Keith realised, with a start, he was in the living room. He must have fallen asleep on the futon and rolled off of it. Worst of all, the sun was most certainly up, and it looked like it was even high up in the sky judging by what he saw now sprawled out on the floor of the dusty old shack he inhabited. Fuck. He was supposed to be up at 5. The sun being that high meant it was at least 9. He was late.

A few years ago, he would have freaked out. A few years ago, being late meant things for more than just him. A few years ago, he was still at the Garrison.

Now, Keith sat up quickly not out of anxiety but out of the irritation of the crooked, rough floorboards digging into his lower back. He made an unintelligible noise and rubbed at his head, pushing unkempt hair out of his eyes. He slowly got up.  

Keith walked back to the wardrobe by the door, blanket dragging behind him, and opened it up. There wasn't really that many items in the wardrobe, and the only reason it was even there was because the previous owner left it there, but it served its purpose so it stayed.  He eventually dug out a clean cotton square and shirt, which he threw to the futon, and folded up the quilt to stuff in the bottom drawer.

He walked back to the futon and got dressed, putting on the clean shirt and dirty pants from last night, quickly braiding his hair and tying the cotton square around his face before pulling it down around his neck.

He looked around the small place. It was a mess. There were empty plates scattered, bags that once held snack food littered the floor in small clumps, and Keith could see a larger grocery bag peeking out from the railing on the loft. He sighed, stepping outside through the doors.  He could deal with that later, after he did what he needed to and after he spent some time shooting the shit outside. It was a bit of a miracle that he even was out here; after months spent alone with the only human communication happening outside of his room being a quick hello to the grocery clerk or a nod to whoever he ran into in town, doing any task that wasn't absolutely necessary for survival was like lifting a car.

Hell, even talking on the phone with the power company was more interaction than he usually got.  

He needed to stop isolating himself. That was hard to do when there was no one to talk to and he had anxiety. Keith quickly reminded himself that he chose to do this, he made the decision to be kicked out of the Garrison and the only other option was finding a place like this. He was lucky he even got something as big as the small shack he had. When he was offered it he didn’t even have a job, much less money or more than the clothes on his back. Apparently he was being ‘dangerous to himself or others’ so he was escorted out of Commander Iverson’s office by some campus cops, and he had no clue where his shit in the dorms ended up. At the time it didn’t matter, there were more important things to think about such as Shiro or the cover-up, but now he grew to be less sure of what he used to see as a fact. The fact was, or he thought it was, that Shiro would have never crashed his ship like how they said. Hell, he heard them land safely and even start procedures to take an ice core to see if they could drinkable water from Kerberos.  There is no was that they could have crashed *after* they landed.

But, the more Keith thought about it, the more he doubted himself and what he thought he heard.  Why would they even need to cover anything up; what could have possibly happened that they needed to say the people who died on their mission died because of their own negligence other than that it was true?

He just couldn't think of anything that would warrant what happened, and well, as much as he idolized Shiro, he started doubting himself. Surely Shiro wasn’t as infallible as he seemed to Keith, no one was perfect. Even the Garrison's excuse was airtight, everything they claimed was plausible to Keith’s knowledge. “Of course it would make sense, they have experts making up the excuse!” his brain told him. “This is just another conspiracy theory and you’re falling back on it instead of grieving properly; Now you are stuck in the middle of nowhere and you're boyfriend is dead!” he screamed back.

He was beginning to doubt himself and it was maddening.

Keith was torn from his inner turmoil by the shadow of a scavenger passing over his eyes. He harshly was slammed back to reality, the blurred landscape snapping back to startling clarity and the sun becoming too bright as it hit his eyes. The dust in the air burned his throat and Keith felt a slight tingle on his cheeks telling him that his face was in the sun for too long and he was going to burn.

He looked around himself at the barren emptiness circled by plateaus on one side and rocky mountainous hills on the other. The city, or more accurately small outpost, was visible in the distance but distorted by the heat in the air and the sand curling against the ground stopped occasionally by small shrubs and tumbleweeds.  

Keith grabbed the watering can as he walked to the side of the shack and began to water the small collection of succulents, cacti, and some cooking herbs he accumulated.

_________________________

Kicking his hoverbike to life, Keith felt it slowly balance out and rise off of the ground. He tugged down the visor on the old motorcycle helmet he found at some pawn shop an hour north and pulled up his bandana in a futile attempt to not inhale as much sand as last time. 

He waited a bit until the engine sound calmed and then pulled onto the path that led to the main road. As he drove, he lost himself to the feeling of the wind against his back like a firm weight, the sun hitting his bare arms as he leaned into the few turns on the path before he slowed down for the intersection. Small moments of peace like these were a rare comfort.

Pulling into a parking spot 15 minutes later, Keith pulled down the bandana and took a breath. He pressed the push start to turn his bike off and guided it down before unclasping his helmet and sliding it into one of the built in saddlebags on the side and closing it. He started towards the shops.

The sheriff nodded to him as he walked past the deputy’s office, and Keith waved back to the older woman as he hopped onto the sidewalk.  

“Hey, kid, how’s the Thomson's Shack holding up?” She asked with a fondness in her tone. He knew she had foster kids and Sheriff Taslaw probably would have been on the list of possible homes for him, so she must have known more than she let on about him. It was fine though, the only difference she ever made was maybe being a bit friendlier and respecting his boundaries. She was pretty motherly to all of the young people here, especially because there were few and almost half lived in her house.

“It’s doing good, I think I finally found the issue with the pipes in the kitchen,” he said back, smiling at how she brightened at his response.

“Sure, kid. Offer still stands if you want my son to take a look for you,” she said back, laughing. “He knows his way around that sort of thing and doesn’t get out enough still.”

“No thank you, Sheriff, but thank you for the offer,” He called back. Keith knew that she took in a new foster, some kid that used to be at the Garrison but had funds cut half way through the semester. That must have sucked, he thought idly as he crossed the street for the general store.

_________________________

Lugging a couple of plastic bags back into the shack, he kicked the door closed behind him as he dropped them on the coffee table. Keith put away the food in the fridge and shelved a few things before looking around at the mess and sighing. No time to get things over with like the present.

Keith pulled out a garbage bag from under the sink and began to go about the room slowly and pick up the garbage. About half way through the room he tied off the now full bag and grabbed another. And then, as the began to zone, he heard a ping come from the loft. It was a sound he had not heard in a long time, the sound of a text message. Even so, Keith ignored it. There wasn’t anyone he could think of that would be texting him, so he assumed it was spam. But soon enough, he was done with bottom floor and he tied off his bag. He grabbed the other one and went outside to throw them in the garbage enclosure. Returning inside, he looked up to the loft.

He climbed up the ladder, deciding to ignore the phone for now, and tidied up the sleeping area, shoving the remaining garbage in the bag that was already up there and moving the cups to the edge where he could grab them when he was back down. With the area cleared, he looked to the flip phone resting on top of the bookshelf. As if to mock him, the front screen lit up with the text “One new message from Unknown”. Curiosity bit him, and he flopped onto the mattress and groped blindly for the phone before propping himself up by his elbows, phone in hand. He flipped it open.


End file.
